


Threequinox

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [2]
Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: During a routine delivery to a peaceful planet, the duo take a night off to observe a local festival.
Relationships: Clank & Ratchet (Ratchet & Clank)
Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055069
Kudos: 6





	Threequinox

**Author's Note:**

> Ratchet & Clank is one of my top three favorite game series - the other two will make appearances over the next ten days. I know this is a little obscure to most people, but these two have a special place in my heart.

“Really, we cannot thank you enough,” the Tortoid elder repeated. “We only celebrate the threequinox once every planetary cycle! The children would have been devastated!”

Ratchet tried to nod along to the old man's gushing expressions of gratitude, but he was repeating himself with every carton the dock workers unloaded from the cargo ship. As much as it was nice to actually be thanked for his job it was starting to get a little embarrassing.

The Tortoids lived on a peaceful little planet named Pinterra at the edge of the Attican galaxy. Their chief natural resource was mud, their chief export was dried mud, and they primarily lived in little huts made of mud during the rainy season (which was 85% of their year). They were small, the tallest only a few inches taller than Ratchet, and nearly spherical thanks to the hard shells they grew over their backs.

“Oh, and lemon fizz!” the elder exclaimed. “The little ones will be delighted. Really, we cannot thank you enough...”

Ratched tuned the old man out, searching the docks for Clank instead. He found the robot surrounded by a handful of Tortoid children, who seemed fascinated with Clank's appearance. They would poke their heads out to examine him, then snap them back into their shells with high-pitched giggles. The Tortoids couldn't retract completely into their shells, but the hard carapace looked like it might provide protection from an attack against the Tortoids' unarmored heads.

“That's the last of it,” one of the dock workers announced. He was one of the tallest Tortoids that Ratchet had met, and he had dark, swirling designs carved into his shell.

Come to think of it, the elder's shell was decorated, too. Though while the elder's shell looked like it was covered in murals telling the history of the clan, the dock worker's was more chaotic.

“Really, we cannot thank you enough,” the elder began again.

“He's heard it, Weatherly,” the dock worker interrupted kindly. “Let's get this loaded so he can get on his way, yeah?”

“Oh, oh no,” Weatherly exclaimed, shaking his head. His fuzzy eyebrows drew together in consternation as he peered up at Ratchet. “This young one, and his metal friend...they must join us for the festival!”

Ratchet glanced over. Clank was entertaining the children by retracting his head in as far as he could, until the children were craning their necks forward to see them, then popping back out to shrieks of laughter as the young Tortoids pulled their heads back in reflexively.

“I'm sure he has other places to be,” the dock worker replied. He carefully held out a bent arm for the elder's shaky hand to latch onto. “Let's not keep him waiting.”

“But he has never seen a threequinox!” Weatherly protested. “The night the sun a-and the moons share the sky in equal portions.”

“Actually,” Ratchet cut in before the dock worker could reply, “Our schedule is, kinda, open?”

“Wonderful!” Weatherly pulled away from the dock worker and latched onto Ratchet instead. “We don't often have outsiders to our festivals. We invite the delivery person every year but, do you know, you're the first to accept in a long time! Come, we must return to the village and begin preparations!”

* * *

The Tortoid village had been a long, tedious boat ride up the swamp's tributaries on a cargo barge. Elder Weatherly had talked about the village and the planet's history, but between the soothing motion of the boat and the warmth of the sun overhead Ratchet had found himself dozing off.

And so, as soon as they'd reached the village, he'd been handed over to Weatherly's daughter Biantha and packed away into one of the guest huts for a nap before the festival.

The hut, at least, was built to accommodate a more...mammalian species. From what he'd seen of the village the Tortoids themselves lived in huts right on the edge of the swamp water, with the entrances either on or below the water line. There were a row of guest huts farther up the shore, and if the bed was just a nest of straw at least it was _clean_ straw. For someone who lived the kind of life Ratchet lived it was practically a luxury.

He pushed aside the curtain and stepped out into the village, pausing for a moment to stretch out a kink in his back.

“Did you rest well?” Clank asked. The little robot was sitting against the side of the hut and Ratchet dropped down to sit beside him.

“Better than on that cargo ship. We definitely need to upgrade if we're gonna keep doing this.”

“Hmm,” Clank turned back to watch the Tortoids in the village square. “I believe their preparations are nearly complete. The festival should begin shortly.”

“Weatherly did say it began at sundown,” Ratchet replied. The sun was close to the horizon, faint bands of orange and pink coloring the sky. “So, what do you think so far?”

“They seem a very pleasant species. The admiration for their elder is sincere, as is their regard for each other.”

“Yeah.” Ratchet leaned back against the hut, eyes on the trees on the far side of the swamp. While he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to barrel out of the jungle, guns blazing, hunting for the galaxy's only Lombax for whatever reason this week (maybe some warlord had a craving for Lombax stew), it did seem like they'd actually found some peace for a night.

The sound of giggling caught his attention, and he looked over to see a group of Tortoid children staring at Clank. As he watched they pulled their heads down into their shells, then popped them back out. “Well,” Ratchet began, making a show of climbing to his feet and dusting his pants off. “Shall we?”

The children shrieked with laughter and surrounded Clank, tugging him along toward one of the bonfires set up in the village clearing. Ratchet followed at a slower place, taking in the sights of the festival decorations.

They were mostly mud, but mud in interesting shapes, at least. Most of the decorations seemed to have a design of three spheres set equidistant around a circle—the threequinox. There were others that looked like the designs carved into the Tortoids' shells, woven through with colorful scraps of cloth, and the huts themselves had been splashed with brightly-colored paint.

Adult Tortoids were moving in on him then. Someone shoved a plate piled high with food into his hands, someone else tugged him toward a fallen log near one of the bonfires. The Tortoid from the dock—his name was Shaker—was standing on a stump making huge, sweeping gestures with his arms as he told the story of one of the early Tortoid explorations into the swampland.

Shaker finished his story and bowed his way off the stump, to be replaced by another Tortoid. This one was younger, with barely half her shell covered in carvings of trailing vines and flowers. She ducked her head self-consciously as she recited the story of two warring Tortoid tribes (well...they had a disagreement about how much sand should be used in the mud to make the lumpy vases they sold to off-worlders, and that was about as strong as Tortoid disagreements got), and how two children from the tribes fell in love and put an end to the enmity. To Ratchet's surprise, it wasn't the usual “star-crossed lovers defy all odds”...in her story the young Tortoids' parents, on realizing their children had fallen in love, opened negotiations between their tribes so their children could live in peace.

Ratchet drained his mug of tea—something refreshing, made crisp and bubbly by the lemon fizz he'd delivered just that afternoon—and joined in the applause as the young Tortoid fled from the stump. There were others, too. Stories of celebration and family and triumph. At another bonfire, at the opposite end of the village clearing, they were taking turns singing reedy Tortoid ballads.

He set his mug and plate aside and stood up, making his way out of the circle around the fire to look for Clank.

The little robot was seated at a third bonfire, surrounded by Tortoid children. Ratchet settled down on a blanket that had been spread across the mud and stared at his friend, eyebrows raised.

“Not one word,” Clank warned. He was covered... _covered_...in paint.

The children, too young to have carvings on their shells, were painting wild designs on each other. Thankfully they didn't deem Ratchet in need of his own colorful paint—one of them had pointed out that his fur was bright enough—so they'd redoubled their efforts on Clank.

Then one of the little ones was shoving a piece of paper into Ratchet's hands and settling against him, head practically leaning on his elbow. He glanced down at her and flapped the orange square of paper in her direction. “What's this?”

“They're making paper birds.” Biantha, the elder's daughter, was sitting on the other side of the fire. “When the first moon is highest in the sky my father will tell the story of how the swamp birds led our first elder to this very clearing. Legend says that if your paper bird takes flight when he finishes the story your wish will come true.”

Ratchet watched the Tortoid woman's hands as she deftly folded the paper. “A wish, huh?”

He tried to pass the paper over to the woman but she shook her head and pushed it back. “The whole point is to fold it yourself,” she explained. “Here, let me teach you.”

* * *

“My exhaust ports are positively clogged,” Clank complained as he settled into the co-pilot's seat. They scraped off the paint as best they could, but the children had been...thorough.

“We'll get you taken care of once we get back to the station,” Ratchet said. He toggled the switches for lift-off and waved at the Tortoid delegation that had come to the port to see them off. “Admit it, you had fun.”

“I suppose it was a pleasant change from our usual activities,” Clank conceded.

Ratchet snorted. “You mean we didn't get shot at even once?”

“Precisely.”

“Yeah.” Ratchet reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled, lopsided paper bird. He looked at it for a second before wedging it into a corner of the control panel. “We should do this more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next time: Family - “This isn't about pity.... This is about friendship. About family. About being together to...to celebrate what we do have.”


End file.
